


Stealth and Speed

by Sharlih-rhymes-with-Darling (LadyLustful)



Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Quiet Sex, Rimming, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLustful/pseuds/Sharlih-rhymes-with-Darling
Summary: Winnetou and Charlie steal a moment for themselves while out scouting. Or, an excuse to write quick, quiet, partly clothed outdoor sex.





	Stealth and Speed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts), [Dana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/gifts), [Karla1209](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karla1209/gifts).



The only other suitable campsite around is a shallow canyon on the other side of the rise, a half-dry creek winding along the bottom. Once we have ascertained that nobody was, or had recently been, hiding there, my Winnetou pulls me to him by the hips, pressing a heated yet tender kiss to my mouth. “God”, I whisper, as his soft, perfect lips part from mine. “I wish we could finally be alone together.”  
“We could. Our companions are some distance away and there is nobody else for miles. I could take my brother right here with nobody the wiser if he can keep silent.”

I am shocked, scandalized, my strict Christian upbringing appalled at the idea of making love to a man, one I call brother, outdoors, in broad daylight, within earshot of our companions – yet a larger part of me, the one that always craved adventure and has in the recent months learned to crave my Winnetou's touch, lights up with desire at the prospect.

“What does my brother have in mind?”

Winnetou kisses me again, chaste and sweet, stroking my hips with his thumb before moving to my center, rubbing with a gentle yet firm pressure, his own length pressed hot against my body.

“Let me show you”, he whispers, as his deft fingers slip under my hunting shirt to undo my trousers, the first touch against bare flesh a delicious promise – but, instead of taking me in hand as I expected, his hand cups my buttock, fingers rubbing against my entrance, making me want to gasp with surprise and arousal.

I remember the need for silence, pressing a kiss to my brother's jaw instead.  
“We may need to lie down,” I whisper in his ear once I can form words. “I won't be able to stand and keep silent through that.”

He leads me to lie down on my back on a flat spot of rock under an overhang, and I blush at the appreciative gaze that brushes over my body when he rids me of my trousers, promising the just as appreciative touches to come.

My hunting shirt stays on for protection against the rough shale. My lover just pulls up the bottom of it to press a kiss against my hipbone, dark eyes looking up at me.

I bite back a whine, surprised, sure that I will not last long enough if my beloved continues with this teasing before taking me, but remain silent. But I am not to enjoy – or endure – this foreplay for long, for, almost as soon as they touched my skin, my Winnetou's soft, perfect lips slide lower, ever closer to my center, brushing little kisses in their wake. I try to arch up involuntarily, chasing the sweet excitement of their touch, but my brother's hands come up, grasping my hips in an iron grip, keeping me in place.

“My Sharlih will have to remain still, and silent”, he reminds me. “Can he do that?”  
I nod, not trusting myself with words, breathing slowly in pursuit of a calm that will let me stay still, keep quiet, last longer, imagining the heat rising in my belly dissipating languidly over my body instead. My brother leans his head back down to my member, pressing his lips to the head, lighting up my entire body with a pleasured anticipation, but as soon as he touches me he is gone, brushing down my shaft a trail of kisses that would be chaste in any other circumstances. I bite my lip and throw my head back, doubly, deliciously tortured by the pleasure and the promise of more.

And soon, more does come, as slender, spit-slicked fingers press against my body, questing, rubbing in insistent little circles, before slipping inside, shocking me with the sudden, delicious fullness and the way they press on that spot inside me with hardly any preamble. A drop of liquid slides down my shaft from the stimulation, teasing me with its descent before my brother catches it with his tongue, licking up the wet track to its very source. I reel with desire, yet still let no sound escape.

“My Sharlih is so quiet”, whispers Winnetou, pulling his fingers out halfway, slowly, then thrusting them back in, the most wonderful torture I can imagine. “His self-control should be rewarded.”

I almost moan, puzzling what sweet torment my brother might next inflict upon me, already losing my mind from two fingers and his lips, and then his tongue swipes right over where his fingers disappear into me.  
  
At this point, I lose all ability to focus, aware only of the sweet sensations of my Winnetou's touch, the skilled, slick tongue, the rhythmic motion of those agile fingers as they thrust inside me, stretching me, rubbing against that sweet spot repeatedly – yet, after a short time, the fingers and mouth disappear, leaving me slick, wet, excited and frustrated.

“Is my brother ready?”, he asks, and I am forced to compose myself enough to answer.

“Yes”, I tell him quietly. “Please. Take me.”

My brother moves up between my legs, a bare moment spared for pushing aside his loincloth and slicking himself up before he slides inside me in one firm, smooth, glorious stroke, filling me up, forcing me to grit my teeth against crying out in pleasure. Something in my face must have alarmed Winnetou because he stills, still fully inside me, and touches a gentle hand to my face.

“Is my Sharlih alright? Did Winnetou hurt him?”

I force my lips to move, to smile, to speak.  
“Yes, no, not hurt, it's good... intense...”

My love leans down to press a chaste kiss against my lips, whispering:

“Good, my Sharlih should take what I give him – and enjoy it. This is barely the beginning.”  
And then he straightens up, grips my hips, and withdraws a little before thrusting back inside, hitting the spot that makes my entire body light up with desire, time and time again. Even though his face remains unmoved, his rhythm even, I can tell from the quick, shallow thrusts that he is close to his release.

But I am closer – teased, stretched, filled, my pleasure mounting with my lover's every movement, I can only focus on keeping my silence, which the waves of pleasure rising in my body make increasingly difficult. My eyes wander to my lover, taking in his chiseled face, so beautiful in its serene focus, the lithe, powerful body thrusting into mine, the soft bronze skin I have tasted so many times and still can never get enough of... my own aching arousal, red, swollen and dripping despite hardly having been touched.

I am overwhelmed, not only by the physical sensations, but by my brother's radiant, exotic beauty, brought to my focus again and again and stunning me each time; by the intimate bond we share, a profound joining of not just bodies, but minds and spirits; the love, the trust, the tenderness and understanding expressed through acts of the flesh.

As though sensing my impending salvation, Winnetou soon removes one hand from my hip and wraps it around my shaft instead, agile fingers gently spreading the slick liquid over sensitive skin as they stroke me.  
“Come, my Sharlih,” he orders, as though that were not enough, and I can do nothing but obey, senseless, helpless, hoping desperately I can stay silent as I come in his hand.

My brother follows me, with one last deep thrust, spilling deep in me, a confession of love, half-groaned and half-whispered, on his lips, coming to rest half on top of and half beside me.

It takes us both a short while to fully regain our senses, gather the will to move. My brother brings his fingers, stained with my release, to his lips to lick, and I join him, first cleaning those skilled, wonderful digits with my tongue while he does the same, then pressing my mouth to his to share the taste, shivers of belated arousal running through my body.

“My sweet, dearest Sharlih”, whispers Winnetou as our lips part. “You were so good.”

“My darling, beloved Winnetou. I love you.”

We disentangle and get dressed, still languid with pleasure, stealing lingering touches wherever we can, the leather rubbing against my sensitive body reminding me of what we had just done.

“They have no idea,” whispers Winnetou to me on our way back, “no idea you're mine, no idea I just had you, no idea how much you loved it...”

“Yes. Our sweet secret.”

  
  


  
  


 


End file.
